Constructing Wilde

Part 3

On Monday, when he was finally free from obligations, he set to work. Pacing the study, he went over what he'd compiled. He mumbled various lines of the poems to himself as he revised and tweaked things to get it just so; he certainly wouldn't settle for less than perfection, and that, naturally, required a good deal of editing. He'd been cloistered away up here in his study for the better part of the day now, and he hadn't even stopped to pay heed to mealtimes.

"I galloped, racing with the setting sun,

And ere the crimson after-glow was passed,

I stood within Ravenna's walls at last,"

mumbled Oscar, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I think that's quite good enough... I daresay this one's ready enough for publishing. Now what did I do with the manuscript for Eleutheria?" mused he.

A sharp rapping on the door startled him from his reverie, and he started, dropping the papers he'd been rifling through on the floor. Quite naturally irate at the unexpected turn of events, he stooped and began gathering the papers while irritably calling out for the intruder to enter.

Frank popped around the door, ever his jovial self; he had a broad smile on his face and a dastardly gleam in his eyes. "I say, Oscar, you've been here all day! Whatever have you been up to, old boy?"

Glaring quite unabashedly at his friend, Oscar stacked the papers on the desk and crossed his arms. "Have you the faintest idea how obnoxious it is to be interrupted in an important train of thought?" inquired he.

"I'm sure I haven't. When have you ever known me to have an important train of thought to interrupt?" inquired Frank. "I'm sure I haven't ever had an important thought in my life; excepting, perhaps, the thought of what to eat — I daresay that's important. It is important, in fact. Nothing could be—"

"Here now," scolded Oscar. "Do shut up, and make yourself useful. You may as well listen to what I've got so far. I've been needing a second opinion on this one poem, Endymion. Yes, I think you may as well sit there and listen now that you've disrupted my train of thought on the other pieces."

Ever the obliging one, Frank sat down in the leather armchair by the fire as Oscar cleared his throat and began. Frank listened with as much attention as he was wont to give to anything; that is to say, he paid very little attention to much of it. The last stanza or so, however, didn't fail to capture his fleeting attention; it quite roused him from his drowsy disinterest.

"False moon! False moon! O waning moon!" proclaimed Oscar.

"Where is my own true lover gone,

Where are the lips vermillion,

The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?

Why spread that silver pavilion,

Why wear that veil of drifting mist?

Ah! Thou hast young Endymion,

Thou hast lips that should be kissed!"

"I say! That's a bit of pretty scandal you're sticking your foot into, Oscar, you rascal."

"You mean to say you don't like it?" questioned Oscar, embarrassed. "Perhaps I ought to tone it down a bit? Is the performance too brazen for the tastes of my audience, do you think?"

"No, I like it fine, my friend! It's superb, and suitably shocking. I think one should always have some shocks in life. I'm quite certain this isn't different. No, I should say this will be a good, rousing piece for your collection. You hadn't better it, Oscar. Too much bettering of a good thing turns your good thing into something quite hideous; I've seen it myself, and I swear by that principle. Never fix something that's good enough; you'll only make it worse."